


More

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I swear, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oneshot, Pudding is sexy, Smut, porn caused by food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is baking. It's anoying and in the way. Sherlock is not pleased. That is, until John finds out his one food related weakness.</p><p>For the wonderful ginger8lee! Happy late birthday, hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



When Sherlock came home from the morgue one Friday evening he was surprised to find John not updating his horrid blog but baking. This was not something John Watson did. 

"You're baking," Sherlock said, shedding his greatcoat and walking towards the kitchen.

"Good deduction, that," John said with a smile, bowl in one hand and whisk in another. "What gave it away."

Sherlock frowned and went to ignore him on the sofa.

_____

The next day when John got all the baking things out and spread them across the counters Sherlock was seething. He wouldn't give John the pleasure of knowing how annoying it was. He hid away in his room, even as the telly was turned up and the opening music to 'The Great British Cooking Show' came on. It was stupid. It was stupid and useless and it was taking up absolutely needed experimentation room.

_____

When it had gone on nearly all day Sherlock walked out to tell John how stupid, useless, wasteful and downright annoying his cooking was. He succeeded in walking through the door and nothing else, as John turned around with flour on his cheek and his apron covered in bits of batter and Sherlock's heart melted.

"Try my meringue. It's pretty good," John said, holding a plate out and waiting for Sherlock to take it.

"I hate merengue," Sherlock pouted, walking past John because he didn't need to be bothered by the sudden fondness that seeing John like that was causing.

John frowned and ate some himself before speaking again, "what do you like?"

"Chocolate pudding," Mycroft stated suddenly from the door.

Sherlock looked up with a scowl and took the only route he possibly could.

"Do you have some sort of cake-dar?" he asked, and then after making a beeping sound, "someone's made merengue, I must find it!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to John.

"I'll take the pie now, thank you," he said.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure your mum will love it," John replied, going into the fridge and passing over the confection.

"You made my mother pie?" Sherlock demanded, not quite sure why he was so upset.

"Yes. Is there a problem with that?" John asked, nodding goodbye to Mycroft and walking back into the kitchen.

"Only that Mycroft will eat half of it with his fingers in the car before it gets there," Sherlock grumbled. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and left the flat just as Sherlock sighed and turned his back on the room so he could think in peace.

_____

Three hours later Sherlock was woken from his musings by the press of something on his lips. He opened his eyes to find he was sitting up and John was just withdrawing his hand. 

"What are you doing?" he asked.

John grinned mischievously and just stood there until Sherlock reached a hand up to find out what in bloody hell was on his lip (if it was merengue Sherlock would kill him). What he found made his eyes fly up to meet John's. John chuckled as Sherlock's tongue peeked out to run across his lips. He closed his eyes with a huff and let his head fall.

"Good?" John asked.

Sherlock stood and took John by the bicep into the kitchen. When he let go it was because he'd found the bowl of chocolate pudding and was staring into it like it might hold the answers to the meaning of life.

"I want some," he said breathily. "I want some. Give me some."

John laughed and turned him around.

"Sit at the table and I'll make you up a bowl."

Sherlock sat and chewed his lip as John did as he said and set it down in front of him along with a spoon. He watched Sherlock carefully for a reaction and was surprised when the man started to eat it so quickly he couldn't possibly be tasting it.

"Slow down!" he said, stilling Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked up at him with disgust and was about to say something scathing as John took the spoon away. It died on his lips as John scooped up some of the pudding and held the spoon to his lips. His eyes flitted between John's and the spoon before slowly opening his mouth. John pushed the spoon in and swallowed hard when Sherlock's lips closed around it.

"Christ," he breathed.

"More," Sherlock murmured once the spoon was pulled from his lips.

John nodded, clearing his throat, and prepared another spoonful, and then another. By the forth Sherlock's eyes had fallen closed and John was thoroughly aroused and breathing roughly.

"You're doing so well," John said. "Is it good?"

"John," Sherlock nearly moaned.

"Ok," John soothed. "A few more."

Sherlock's mouth opened again, tongue reaching out a bit prematurely, and John lost it. He bloody lost it. He stood quickly and pushed Sherlock's chair back, the legs making a horrid screeching noise on the old linoleum. Sherlock's eyes flew open and John loomed over him. Sherlock looked at the spoon in his hand and the bulge in his pants and opened his mouth again, that time too wide to not be suggestive.

"You want another?" John asked, pupils widening.

"Yes, John," Sherlock breathed out shakily.

"And what will you do for it?" John pressed.

Sherlock reached forward and pulled John roughly into his lap. John moaned at the friction it caused and Sherlock took the opportunity to insinuate his tongue firmly into the doctor's mouth. John rolled his hips and kissed the madman back, pulling away when the taste of chocolate only slightly lingered.

"More," he said, holding the spoon to Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock licked it and John growled and rolled his hips, head falling forward a bit so he could capture Sherlock's lips again. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and then sat back, beginning to unbutton his trousers and looking over John's shoulder at the bowl. John took the hint and grabbed another spoonful as he hastily undid his denims and pushed the waistband of his pants down to rest under his bollocks. Sherlock wrapped his lips around the spoon and sucked as he pulled his own prick out and gripped them both in one large hand.

"I'm not going to last," John admitted, already looking a bit lost.

"I'm not going to let you last," Sherlock said, stroking them from root to tip and then running his thumb in a circle.

John grunted and spooned another bit of pudding into Sherlock's mouth. He was already thrusting his hips a bit and beginning to sweat, the heat from the already turned off oven still making the room feel like a sauna. Sherlock ran his left hand up under John's shirt and tweaked a nipple as John picked up the last of the pudding and stuck it into his own mouth.

Sherlock growled and pulled him down to steal the pudding back from his waiting tongue and sped up his strokes, pulling fiercely at their cocks and canting his hips. John let him have it and felt himself begin to spill into his hand as his mouth was licked clean. Sherlock whined in the back of his throat and sagged forward as he began to come as well.

After a moment they rested against each other and broke out into giggles.

"You are absolutely lewd with that tongue of yours!" John accused.

"Yes, well you just came all over me, so I don't think you have any right to say what's lewd," Sherlock replied.

John kissed his neck and whispered to him, "you're helping me clean the kitchen."

Sherlock groaned and shook his head, "no way."

"I'll let you have the rest of the pudding," John tried.

"Deal," Sherlock said, resting his head against John's shoulder and sighing loudly. "you really are a bastard."


End file.
